


Dangerous Liaisons

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Basically my attempt at writing a love triangle, Heavy Angst, James/Thomas (in memory), M/M, Masturbation, Some Plot, flint/silver smut, lots of blint smut, takes place after season 2 and going into season 3, what if both Billy and Silver had the hots for their captain? inspiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5818705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flint struggles to maintain everything after Miranda's death. Billy wants to help, but is Flint ready for it? Silver also wants to help, and Flint must decide what he wants from whom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since so many of us ship James with either Silver or Billy and there's enough in the show to warrant both ships, what if James was forced to make up his mind between the two of them while trying to cut himself off from everything for war against the world?

Prelude

\-------------------

He didn’t save them when it counted, but in his mind he saved them over and over again, countless times, in countless different ways.

Flint awoke in the middle of the night, as he had almost every night since the raid on Charlestown. Sometimes he got lucky and whatever nightmarish visions were running through his head dissipated with the opening of his eyes. Other times he wasn’t so lucky and the visions remained, burned into his skull and searing away at what little remained of his ability to care.

They were dreams of Miranda but also of Thomas, both now taken from him. He wept at first when the most savage parts of his dreams remained with him; wept quietly into his arms until his chest hurt and his throat was too tight. But he had spent the better part of ten years coming to grips with Thomas's death—he could not do it all over again for Miranda. He was too exhausted, and now, too numb.

Needless to say he lost some sleep on their return journey to Nassau but he kept himself as in check around the men as ever. He became even more rigid, more calculated around them. He put all his energy behind one thing and one thing alone—how to deliver revenge.

It helped. He could still deliver a speech that would drive the men’s desire in his direction, get them to continue taking risks for him without too many questions. And he presented himself as a pillar of strength to them as well as to the margins of civilization they attacked in the coming weeks.

It was only when he was alone in his cabin (though Silver was there, bed ridden but mostly asleep or sedated) that he could truly relax. Everything ached. His shoulders ached from his age, his arms ached from whatever manual labor he’d done for the ship or from manning the helm. His head ached. His heart…

Fuck his heart. He didn’t need one for the mission he was going to set himself on; set all of them on. He would allow himself just a pinch of mourning time for Miranda a little longer, just until he could actually control himself when he was alone and blot out everything about her—her soft smile, her liquid brown eyes, her integrity, her honesty—everything, except that bullet ripping through her head, splattering his face with blood. Everything except her collapsing like a dropped doll onto the floor, dead. He would most certainly need to blot out the memory of himself dropping to the floor next to her, staring at her still face as the last vestiges of James McGraw were brutally ripped from him in that moment.

All of it would have to cease to exist, at least for a time. He needed to remember only the brutality done against her to carry out his mission. It would give constant fuel to the fire that raged within him so hot and violent at times that he swore it physically hurt him. It needed an outlet. He needed an outlet, a way to calm the storm within, lest it overtake him completely.

I.  
\-----------------

Silver wasn’t sure what roused him from his heavy sleep—the violent rocking of the ship or the heated voices coming from within the cabin. His head felt heavy and his limbs—what remained of them—even heavier. Dimly he realized he was still under the effects of the laudanum or opium Dr. Howl had given him as a cushion against the pain.

He opened his eyes. The ship’s turbulence was not an effect of his sedation, however; a look outside the stern windows he lay up against revealed they were travelling through a storm. Nothing too severe, but strong enough so that he could hear all manner of small objects rolling around and clanking together in the cabin. Most of the sounds were no doubt coming from Flint’s desk, including Flint’s own angry voice and that of Billy Bones.

Silver perked up his ears.

“…and I’m so glad you are aware of my continued mourning, Billy, so I’d appreciate it if you’d let me do it in peace,” Flint was saying.

“You’re not yourself, and I don’t mean from just mourning,” Billy shot back. “You’re treading down dark waters, captain, and I’ve got the crew to look after.”

“You’re a glorified bosun, Billy,” Flint said flatly.

The cold sentiment surprised Silver. He had been the subject of such sentiment from Flint before, only after the captain had truly been provoked. This argument of theirs had been ongoing and probably had started long before this moment, he figured. He wanted to turn around and see them but was afraid that any shift in his position would give him away and they would both abruptly end the very interesting conversation, so he stayed put.

“…you were shit-faced in Tortuga. In front of the men. That’s not like you and frankly I’m worried you might turn on one of them in that condition,” said Billy.

A heavy sigh. From Flint, Silver guessed.

“What do you want, Billy? You’ve hounded me on this and we’ve not yet made it home. Say what’s really bothering you and leave me alone.”

There was no immediate retort. Silver held his breath. Evidently Billy was caught off guard by this. He heard the floorboards creak and boots shifting their place. He desperately wanted to see, though he wasn’t certain why it was so important to do so.

“I told you,” came Billy’s voice, now quieter. “I’m concerned about you. You don’t have to believe me. But I am just the same. I…”

Billy’s voice cut off. Silver pushed himself up against the stern wall ever so slightly as though he might hear better that way.

“What, damn you!” bellowed Flint.

“Fuck it. You’re fucking hopeless.”

Heavy thud of boots, then Flint’s voice:

“Wait…”

Silver swore he heard a touch of interest in his voice. Suddenly he wasn’t sure he liked the direction this argument was heading in. He swallowed and tried shaking off the effects of his sedation, inching his head closer to the edge of the wall. He was so close to being able to turn and see them. Still he did not. Then Billy’s voice again, sounding guarded:

“I see the way you look at me.”

Silver fully opened his eyes and gripped the edge of the window seat hard. What was this? The silence that followed the statement seemed to tick on an eternity.

“Oh? And what way is that?” came Flint’s reply. His tone reminded Silver of sharks circling prey. It was an obvious challenge—but it carried no shock or surprise at the boson’s implications.

Silver, however, was both shocked and surprised at Billy’s words, but strangely even more so at the captain’s response, as though Flint expected it! What the fuck? Billy’s next words were so low he had to strain to hear them:

“Nothing. Forget it.”

More boot steps across the floor. The boards creaked loudly and finally Billy came within Silver’s line of sight as he crossed rapidly to the door, powerful leg muscles carrying him there in a few long strides. He slammed it behind him. Silver let out a breath and slumped against the wall. Why had he been so tensed? He didn’t like Billy Bones at the moment, not one bit. 

**I see the way you look at me.**

The words echoed in his head but he soon lost the ability to mediate on them any further. He tried to understand their effect on him but it all sifted through his mind like so many grains of sand. The sedation gripped him again and he closed his eyes, the rocking of the ship hypnotizing him into sleep once more.


	2. Chapter 2

II.  
\--------------

Flint made his way across the ship, asking after the bosun until he got an answer. Billy was below deck, in the dry provisions store after hearing of another report of rats chewing into the sacks. As ship’s bosun it wasn’t his job, but Billy often tended to the smaller problems on the ship. Flint had to admit he often went above and beyond his duties. He was a good bosun and a good sailor.

Flint swung himself onto the steep stairs that took him below the quarterdeck, past the capstan and into the small and cramped space filled with white burlap sacks. It smelled of warm must and grains. Billy was here, applying a quick stitch job on one of the sacks. Flint looked at all the spilled contents of oats and grain they had lost. Billy glanced up at him with a frown before returning to his task, sitting on top a barrel.

“Goddamn rats,” he said. “We haven’t had a cat since Randall’s died. We’d better get a new one soon.”

Flint grunted out an agreement. He searched through the piles of sacks, looking for any more damaged goods but Billy assured him he’d already looked. Flint stopped, feeling slightly foolish. This was not why he had come down here. He finally turned away from the sacks and looked at the bosun.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been difficult,” he said. “I don’t mean to endanger the men or take my anger out on them or you in any way. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

There. He’d said his peace and he meant it. Billy looked up, still frowning. He said nothing but pulled tight the last bit of catgut and cut it with his knife. He lifted the heavy sack up and hefted it back on top of its fellows. Flint averted his eyes at the sight of Billy’s rippling arm muscles, so sharply defined even in the dim light coming from his lantern.

“Is that it?” Billy asked.

Flint raised an eyebrow and gave a little shake of his head.

“Should there be something else?”

Billy held his gaze evenly and once again Flint felt trapped as he had in the cabin a mere few hours ago when Billy had accused him of gandering at him. Billy was pushing him but wasn’t quite brave enough to have out with it. Flint decided to use that, glad for the tiny advantage it allowed him. He planted a boot on the bottom step and tucked his thumbs into his belt.

“What else should there be, Billy?” he asked dubiously. “I know you think I like to play mind games, and the truth is I do. But this is not one of those times. I haven’t cornered you or coerced you into doing anything since Charlestown. So what if I have noticed you, like to look at you? We’re sailors at sea, thousands of miles from home and without any women for months at a time. Give me a fucking break.”

Matter of fact and to the point. No inklings of anything more.

Satisfied, he turned slowly to go up the stairs, barely able to keep a smile off his lips. That did it; it had to. The bosun never would have expected him to be so blunt about it. Yet if Flint had meant to put him in his place or to wipe away his concern, his plan backfired.

Billy’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm. The grip was sure and strong but when Flint turned Billy merely gaped at him, lips parted and looking like a trapped deer unsure of its next move. The moment seemed to stretch out forever. Billy removed his hand after Flint gave him a hard look.

Flint froze in sudden confusion, contradicting his hard and arrogant stare. He should be moving, going up the stairs. There was no reason left to stay. But his body betrayed him and his feet left the stairs. He kept one hand wrapped around the railing as though clinging to a life raft.

“What the fuck do you want?” he snapped at Billy, sneering. “A hand job? Maybe even a blow job? I’m sure one of your young riggers would be more than happy to snatch you up for a few quick jerks.”

That did it. Flint registered the intense flash of anger over the other man’s face right before Billy grabbed him by the front of his shirt and threw him up against the store wall, painfully pinning Flint’s legs between Billy’s and some sacks of grain. Despite all the anger in Billy’s body language when Flint met his eyes, Billy was looking at him with something very, very different than anger.

“Fuck you,” he whispered. Flint blinked in surprise at the dark eyes that eyed him like sweets, drinking him up and down even as Flint pushed back, his legs hurting and his left shoulder at a bad angle against the wall.

“Billy, let me go…”

His hands wrapped around the bosun’s wrists to push against him but Billy moved first. A muffled cry surged up from within Flint as Billy leaned forward and crushed his lips against his own. Flint automatically fought against it, mind reeling. Billy wasn’t attacking him, he was kissing him. Billy Bones, his bosun, the man he had taken pity on and had seen promise in on that navy ship, the same men he could not deny he had been watching for some time with growing desire—now he was forcing his tongue inside Flint’s mouth. Flint felt fire spread out over his limbs, going down to his groin. Jesus.

He finally gave way, opening his mouth willingly as Billy mercilessly probed inside. Billy’s fists unfurled from Flint’s shirt and wrapped tenderly around the sides of his neck. When Billy finally pulled back Flint was nearly breathless and sitting on top of the grain sack. He could feel the color in his cheeks, could see the same on Billy’s.

The bosun backed up, his desire faltering and the trapped deer look returning. Flint pushed himself off the sack. He sucked in a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” said Billy, looking down. “That was rash. I didn’t mean—”

There was no thinking involved for Flint, not this time. His calculating mind had been pushed away in favor of pure pathos. Billy had awoken something within him, something old and rusty but still throbbing with vitality as his cock now throbbed.

He grabbed Billy and pulled him in; returning the kiss with every bit of passion as he’d received it. Billy whimpered into his mouth and ceded to his demands. Flint left his lips to kiss his jaw and his throat. A flush of embarrassment hit him. What the fuck was he doing? But when Billy began roughly pressing his palms into his open-necked shirt and racking them over his chest and nipple Flint’s embarrassment scattered to the wind.

“What do you want?” he asked Billy in a hoarse whisper. He was pushing the bosun up against the opposite wall without waiting for a reply. Billy let him. 

“I want you,” he whispered back, planting quick and frantic kisses over Flint’s face and throat.

Perhaps he should have asked for particulars; he had, after all, just rattled off what most men wanted on long voyages. Fucking usually wasn’t one of them. But Flint didn’t. If Billy didn’t want it he’d no doubt let Flint know. **Fuck it,** he thought. **I want him too badly.**

After so many years of giving commands and doing whatever he wanted it was too hard not to go after Billy. Once against the wall he pulled frantically at Billy’s belt, unbuckling it and then unlacing his trousers.

“Fuck, Flint,” Billy moaned. He reached out to do the same for Flint and Flint let him, then swatted him away before Billy could actually reach inside his trousers. He spun Billy around and yanked on his pants. He got them past his buttocks and to his thighs. Flint gasped quietly at the sight of Billy’s well-defined muscles. It took some tugs to pull Billy’s pants down past his bulging thigh muscles—Jesus, was he ever built—but Flint did and they slid down and pooled around his ankles.

“Here,” said Billy. Flint blinked in surprise when Billy dug into his waist band and produced a small vial of oil.

He wondered briefly why Billy would be carrying around such a vial. Wordlessly Flint uncorked it and sloppily spilled it over his cock and fingers. He was rock-hard and for the first time in a long time, he had something other than his own hand to please him. Billy twisted in front of him, trying to watch. When Flint noticed he roughly shoved the side of Billy’s face into the wall. This was going to be a straight fuck, he decided. No time for lustful glances or anything else. 

Grateful for the oil and even more turned on, Flint pressed himself up against Billy’s backside, fingers coming between his cleft and rubbing the oil there. Billy writhed his rear against the contact, letting out small moans. He looked like he was begging for it. Flint inserted his fingers and stretched him out. He could scarcely believe this was happening, that his bosun had wanted him this much. Billy was panting now. Flint rested his forehead against the sweat-soaked back of his thin shirt, forcing his fingers as far as they would go. He let out a groan as Billy contracted tightly against him.

“You think you can take me?” he heard himself whisper. He roughly shoved his fingers in to emphasize his point. Billy shuddered, face screwing up.

“I could if you’d fucking do it already,” he gasped out. Even now, completely undone and begging for it, Flint marveled at how Billy held himself together. He removed his fingers and positioned his cock over Billy’s enlarged anus. It dripped deliciously with oil. Flint pushed Billy’s legs out further. Billy bent over, palms braced against the wall as Flint pushed himself in.

Billy let out a small cry, clenching up around Flint’s cock. Flint moaned loudly in response. Jesus Christ, it was almost too much. So long, so many years since he’d felt this, felt another man’s heat responding to his own. He pressed himself slowly inside. Billy’s palms clenched into fists. He let out a slur of curses. 

“All right?” Flint asked.

Billy nodded his head eagerly but said nothing. Flint pressed in further and further, his shaft sliding up Billy’s ass until his balls hit Billy’s rump. His whole body shuddered at the sensation of Billy closing around him. 

He paused, cock filling up his bosun, and they both seemed to still for a few precious seconds. Then Flint rocked into him, gently at first. His hand slipped up to Billy’s shoulder, fingertips touching his collarbone. Flushes of heat swept over him, causing his cock to ache. He forced himself not to cry out Billy’s name over and over. Instead he gritted his teeth and bit his tongue. Billy continued to moan and whimper. He arched his back even more for his captain, until it was bent into a near impossible ‘S’ shape. Flint dragged his other hand over the elegant curve, thrusting harder. He began pounding Billy, his cock making fapping sounds against Billy’s rear as his shaft now slid effortlessly back and forth. The pressure in his balls was mounting, becoming unbearable. 

“God damnit,” shouted Billy.

“Shut up,” hissed Flint. If anyone should hear them…

“I can’t,” Billy mumbled back.

And neither could Flint slow his pace. Instead he clamped a hand over Billy’s mouth, other hand digging deep into his shoulder. He used Billy’s body to slam his cock inside him. He was on fire now. He fucked Billy until sweat broke out on the small of his back and he could scarcely breathe. At long last the final, white-hot sensation barreled through him, sending him into ecstasy. He crushed the boson’s body hard up against the wall as he emptied his seed into him. He felt Billy try to cry out but kept his palm over Billy’s mouth. 

He barely managed to contain his own outcry, turning it into a long and low moan and biting down painfully on his lower lip.

Billy finished right after him, jerking himself into oblivion and spilling against the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

III.  
\-----------------

Flint ascended the stairs onto the quarterdeck. He automatically looked around him, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness. Mr. Scott was in the vicinity, overseeing a group of men who were cleaning out the guns. He also spotted Charles Vane towards the port bow, speaking with his quartermaster. The two of them had spoken at length right after Charlestown—strictly business—but little since. Which was just fine to Flint…

“Is it a problem?” 

The question startled him for an instant. He brushed thoughts of Billy aside and turned to Mr. Scott.

“Sorry. What?” 

“The rats,” Scott clarified, giving a nod towards the storage room he’d just emerged from. “Are there many of them?”

“Enough to keep threatening our grains. We’ll stop off at one of the cays we’re getting close to. There’s usually at least one other black flag there. Maybe we can trade.”

Scott nodded. “Very good, captain.”

He turned away from Flint, content to go back to overseeing the cannons being cleaned. Flint sighed and returned to his cabin. He needed time to think. As he pulled open the door he caught sight of Billy emerging from the storage room carrying a bag full of spilled grain. He looked up directly at Flint. Flint fought the urge to grin at him and instead settled for a nod. He thought he saw the bosun’s cheeks redden just slightly as he turned away with the grain, probably to give it to the livestock.

Flint closed the door behind him and rested against it. Jesus. He had never imagined such a reception from his bosun, had never even thought the other man had been pining over him. As for himself, he had more or less told Billy the truth—yes, Billy was something to look at and yes, months on a ship at sea surrounded by only men took its toll on one’s desires, though he had not mentioned that he preferred men to women anyway. 

A passing fancy, he told himself. He wasn’t certain if that was to be their only encounter together or not, but Flint shrugged it off either way. He felt a little better, a little more relaxed now. And it gave him something to think about that wasn’t Miranda.

“Everything all right?”

Flint startled again. Damn. He kept forgetting his cabin wasn’t entirely his own anymore. Silver had pushed himself up into a sitting position against the stern wall, blue eyes on him.

“With Billy I mean,” he continued. “It sounded as though you were arguing earlier.”

“Everything’s fine. Just a rat problem below deck.”

For some reason Silver’s eyes swept over him as though he was unconvinced.

“Oh,” he said at last, then winced. He closed his eyes and his hands tightened into fists. Flint noticed for the first time a sheen of sweat was on his forehead again, a sign the younger man was in pain. He hurried over to the cabinet beside him and poured a cup of the laudanum-laced tea Dr. Howl had given him.

“Here. It’s not warm anymore, but it’ll help.”

Silver took the cup with a shaking hand and forced a smile.

“Huh. I know what’s in it. I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

“It helps,” Flint said again. It bothered him to see a man suffer the way Silver was suffering; a long and slow process, complicated by the effects of the sedative that made him drowsy. Not for the first time Flint found himself feeling genuine sympathy for him. When Billy had told him what Silver had done to save the ship and—by extension—his crew, Flint had been as shocked as anyone. 

It wasn’t fair that he should pay the price for his bravery this way.

“Are you staying for a moment?” Silver asked, handing the cup back. His fingers brushed against Flint’s and seemed to linger…Flint looked up at him but Silver had turned his attention to his desk.

“I see you reading all the time,” he said. “Mind sharing?”

Surprised, Flint picked up the book on his desk he’d been delving into the past few days. It was an old favorite—a collection of Aristotle’s essays.

“It’s not exactly light reading,” said Flint. “Aristotle. The Greek philosopher.”

Silver struggled to sit up again as he slouched down into his nest of blankets. He winced.

“Yes, I do actually know who that is, believe it or not…damnit…”

He tried to push himself up with his one good leg and failed. Flint came over and offered his arm. Silver grabbed it and pushed himself up more securely this time. His lips formed in a tight frown.

“Thank you,” he muttered. 

“You’re welcome,” said Flint. He slowly retracted his arm. Silver’s hand slid over the sleeve of his coat before dropping into his lap. Flint blinked. Surely he was imagining all these things. After what had just happened with Billy it made sense, after all.

He sat down at his desk and turned his chair so that he faced Silver and opened the book. He felt silly reading it out loud, the way a mother would do to a child, but it was not the first time he had done this with another man…

Flint quickly snapped his mind shut on that train of thought. Instead he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He quickly discovered, however, that he was enjoying himself and that reading out loud seemed to take his mind off more morbid and darker thoughts. 

He was certain he was boring his new quartermaster to death, yet when he would glance up Silver seemed to be listening attentively. The knots and lines on his forehead from his pain had smoothed out and he seemed relaxed. Just the laudanum taking effect, Flint knew.

He read until Silver had closed his eyes and was slumped against the wall once more. Flint put down the book and fluffed the blankets around the younger man, who stirred and moaned.

“You have a lovely reading voice,” he said in a throaty voice.

Flint smirked.

“That stays between us,” he replied. 

“Mmm.”

Eyes still closed, Silver shifted further down into the pillows behind his back. Flint had the sudden urge to fix the loose strands of hair plastered across his forehead. He resisted it and instead crossed the room to his hammock. He heard the four o’clock bell ring outside. A good time for a nap as any, he figured, as long as he wasn’t needed. He laid down, glad that the black and ugly thing inside him, with all its ghosts and demons, had been pushed aside for the time being. He was forced to attribute at least some of that to Billy Bones. He let his mind drift to their time in that small and cramped room, of how good it had felt to be passionate with another man again. He’d had his share of quick fucks since being a pirate captain but all of them had been just that and nothing more. With Billy, though…

Flint frowned and turned on his side. No use in thinking about it anymore. It was done and over with. He had long ago learned not to get his hopes up over anything good that came his way.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.  
\---------------

He was at the helm the following evening. He’d relieved the helmsman of his duties, insisting as he sometimes did that he wanted to take it up. The helmsman nodded and conceded the heavy wheel to him. Some of the men took notice and nodded respectively at him, for it was well known that Captain Flint was the most proficient helmsmen of the crew.

What wasn’t well known was that he often did it because his thoughts were muddled and he needed some peace. Standing there and commanding the direction of a beast as massive as the man o’war helped. If he was lucky it would give him both a literal and metaphorical sense of direction when he was otherwise undecided. 

His demons were awake inside him, hounding him with images of a burning Charlestown and a dead Miranda and the smell of iron in the air. He forced himself to think about something else, anything else, and wound up thinking about John Silver. The quartermaster’s leg was healing as well as could be expected, Dr. Howl had said earlier that day. Still, he would need to be weaned off the laudanum and work on building up the strength in his good leg before he could wear the iron-branded prosthetic Howl had made for him. That meant at least a few more days in the captain’s quarters.

Flint mulled over that, realizing he was beginning to enjoy Silver’s company. He had changed markedly since Charlestown, but Flint reminded himself it was too early to know if that was simply because he was still recovering or because the man truly thought of himself as part of the crew now.

Flint turned the giant wheel to port as the ship hit a patch of rougher sea. He gazed off the port bow, trying to see if the cay he’d laid a course for was within sight yet. Perhaps, if he squinted, there might have been a dark chunk of land…

“Captain.”

Flint blinked and turned to his right. Billy was walking towards him, rounding the door to the master’s cabin and standing beside him.

“What is it?” Flint grunted.

“Some of the men were wondering if we would be anchored long enough for them to go ashore. Maybe find some fresh water, some animals.”

Flint turned and looked at him dubiously. They weren’t in need of either water or food. Billy caught his look and shrugged.  
“That’s what they said. For all I know, some of them want to hide in the bushes for a quick fuck.”

Flint forced himself not to look directly at the bosun. He shifted in his boots and said languidly, “Is that so?”

“Maybe,” said Billy shortly. Flint still did not look at him, though he was trying desperately to hide the grin on his face. He felt Billy step closer to him, then disappear behind him. Flint half turned his head.

“Keep a weather eye out,” said Billy. Flint let out a small gasp as Billy’s hand clamped around his crotch. Flint gritted his teeth and took a hand off the wheel, batting him away.

“Stop it,” he growled. He could do little more, however, because the massive helm required two strong hands at all times so he was forced to grab hold of it again before the thing started turning.

Billy let out a deep hum in his throat, shockingly close to Flint’s ear.

“You’re not in a position to do much about it,” he replied, his ever-present stubble grazing against Flint’s jaw. Flint felt a different prickle spread between his thighs. Fuck.

“What are you doing, Billy?” he asked in a low voice. He glanced around the deck furtively for other eyes on them.

“Don’t worry. She’s on a skeleton crew for the night,” said Billy. “Calm waters. And it’s nearly dark. No one will suspect anything unless you make a wrong move.”

Flint turned his head sharply, both hands still on the wheel. This time Billy’s face came into view, his dark, charcoal eyes glinting in the twilight. His hand began rubbing his captain’s crotch.

“Damn you,” Flint half growled, half moaned. This was neither the time nor the place for such behavior. Billy was being reckless, stupid, and…

“Nuuuh...”

The noise escaped Flint’s throat before he could stop it as his cock began responding to Billy’s touch. Then that breath, right at his ear again.

“Stop pretending as if you don’t want it,” he whispered. Flint stifled another moan as Billy’s lips sought out his earlobe and moved further down to his neck. Flint clenched his jaw tight and tried to focus on the helm and keeping the course. It was all he could do as Billy began unbuckling his belt, making soft clinking sounds as his fingers dug their way to loosen his trousers next.

“Billy please,” said Flint, forcing some roughness into his voice to cover up the lust that was steadily rising.

“Please what?” said Billy, his hands never stopping their work at his pants. “You came down that hatchway to blindside me, admit it.”

Flint blinked. No, that was not what had happened…was it?

“Fuck are you talking about?” he hissed out as Billy pressed himself tighter up against Flint’s back, strong arm wrapped around his ribs and down to his waist where his hand was now sliding inside his captain’s trousers and wrapping around his hard-on.

Flint moaned. “Fuck.”

His hand left the wheel spoke and came to grab Billy’s arm in an abortive attempt to regain some control.

“Forget it,” said Billy. “This is *my* game now."

Before Flint could respond he’d grasped the wheel once again and Billy had pulled out his cock, exposing it to the salt air. An evening breeze swept over the deck, sending an extra thrill through Flint. His cock stiffened further. Then he heard Billy’s breathing become unsteady and the thrill went through his stomach, becoming hot and full of lust.

“Fine,” he rasped out. “Have your way, if you think that will make us even.”

Billy was kissing all along the back of his neck now, tongue and teeth dancing across Flint’s skin as the bosun’s fingers funneled and pumped his cock, pulling extra slow and hard over his head. Flint gripped the spokes until his hands hurt. At last he couldn’t control his breathing any more and began panting, leaning into the hard body behind him. 

“Fuck James,” whispered Billy in a tone that sent warm chills down Flint’s spine. “I don’t care about being even. I just want you.”

Flint could think of nothing to say except to moan again, which he did as Billy began pumping him faster until wet beads came out of Flint’s cock.

Flint’s mouth was dry. He turned his neck and licked his lips, suddenly aching for the touch of the other man’s. Billy obliged him after a moment, moving in and capturing his captain’s lips with his own.

Something quietly exploded inside James. He felt as though a maelstrom of feelings long since calmed into a flat abyss of black water, had suddenly roared to life within him and was now spinning wildly out of his control.

“Billy,” he begged between kisses. “Take me.”

Billy Bones abruptly stilled, meeting James's gaze evenly. His hand still funneled James's cock and James looked down pointedly at it. 

“Please.”

It was all James could manage. He felt a hot wave of humility wash over him, that he would be reduced to a beggar before one of his men like this, but Jesus, it was Billy.

Billy’s dark eyes darted down to James's cock and they looked hungry. In one smooth motion the bosun stood in front of James and knelt down on his knees. James shifted and spread his legs slightly, looking down as Billy’s mouth came achingly, throbbingly close to his cock.

James didn’t realize he was holding his breath until warm and wet lips slid over his head. A tongue flicked out and tasted him and made him shudder all over with pleasure. The maelstrom picked up strength as Billy continued his journey over his cock, until James could feel all of the bosun’s mouth wrapped warmly around him.

James tilted his head back, white knuckles on the spokes. The world seemed to tilt along with his head and everything felt light, except for the fiery sensation coming from his cock.

Billy sucked him hard, his tongue expertly maneuvering here and there and underneath James's shaft. Then he took his mouth off his cock and pressed it hard against James's belly, cupping and fondling his scrotum until James moaned loudly.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, looking down again and staring through half-lidded eyes as Billy forced his mouth over him. Billy’s eyes flitted up and met his own. James saw they were full of desire and…something else?

Whatever it was (and he was not prone to thinking about it at the moment) caused James to grip the wheel as hard as he could with one hand, carefully bringing the other to grasp the back of Billy’s head, pushing on it.

Billy came up for air, then impaled his mouth over James again, this time taking him all the way to his scrotum. James was positively dying to use both his hands; he wanted to be touching Billy, to caress his hollowed out cheeks, but he could not. And he was so close to the edge…

“Billy,” he groaned again, bucking gently into Billy’s mouth. Billy had grabbed a hold of his thighs and squeezed. The warm, sexual maelstrom inside him was building to an overwhelming crescendo. James's cock throbbed with want as Billy’s head bobbed faster and faster, taking him shallow now, thumb coming to mingle with his tongue over James's head.

James gritted his teeth, clutching too hard at Billy’s short hair but unable to stop himself. He fucked into his bosun’s mouth until the maelstrom in him exploded outward.

James had to bring his wrist to his mouth and bite into it as a long moan escaped him. He dared to look down. Billy was catching it all in his open mouth, shaking James’s cock. James shuddered all over again. He grasped the wheel with both hands to steady himself more so than the ship.

Billy licked the last traces of James off him and stood. He looked at his captain pensively, cheeks still flushed and a layer of sweat on his face. James licked his own lips and stared at Billy’s.

“Come here,” he said.

Billy moved in and kissed him hard, tongue worming its way to mingle with James's before breaking away.

“Jesus,” said Billy. The sentiment seemed to sum up their second encounter.

Then the moment passed all too soon for James, who was jolted back into reality as a few of the crew shuffled around the gun deck directly below them. High above in the crow’s nest, he remembered, there was a lookout as well. Although the man should not have been paying attention to the ship, he was high enough to see any and everything that went on should he so choose to look.

“Back to your station, Mr. Bones,” said James when he trusted his voice again.

Billy stepped off to the side, gazing at him.

James wanted to tell him that had been fucking wonderful, that he’d enjoyed himself more in the last few minutes than he had in the last few years, that he wanted Billy the way it was clear Billy wanted him. Yet he could not bring himself to say any of it. The maelstrom Billy had woken inside him had woken more than just lust; it had stirred up the deeper layers of memories and emotions he had spent so long suppressing and keeping in their rightful place. He could not allow those things to surface, not just yet. He was afraid of them. So instead he simply glanced sideways at the bosun and gave a quick jerk of his head.

“Off you go.”

He spoke the words softly, hoping that it would soften the blow. It was now too dark for James to make out Billy’s expression as he nodded and said in a neutral tone, “Captain.”


	5. Chapter 5

V.  
\--------------

James sat on the second window seat in his cabin, glass of rum in hand. From the other window he could hear Silver shifting around restlessly. He brought the glass to his lips.

Two encounters with the bosun in as many days. That was as unexpected as their first time had been. It had been the same too; the eagerness and passion with which Billy had attended him. He knew it was more than a passing fancy with the boy. What troubled him however, was that it was more than that for himself.

**No. I can’t risk it. Best not to get entangled with him.**

**But you’ve wanted him for so long, and now you know he wants you too.**

**Doesn’t matter. I can’t. That’s all dead and gone now.**

**No, it isn’t. You can still care, you can still—**

**NO!**

James imagined himself flicking the tiny angel off his shoulder without a backward glance as he downed the rest of the rum, savoring its destructive burn. Damn.

Trying not to think about Billy anymore, he rose and began lighting the candelabrum on his desk. He saw that the single candle holder he’d nailed to the side of the book case for Silver had only a stub in it so he opened a drawer and retrieved a full stick. When he lit it Silver winced, blinking. His features were coated in a warm yellowish glow.

“I can put it out,” said James.

“No. It’s fine. You just startled me, is all.”

James took a moment to look at him. His color had returned; the smooth, cocoa skin looking healthy in the firelight. James noticed that his beard had grown in the weeks since Charlestown, as had his hair, both clean but unkempt since he was mostly bedridden.

“Something wrong?” Silver asked, his eyebrows going up. James quickly looked away and shrugged.

“You look like a fucking cave man,” he said.

Crooked smile.

“Yes, I suppose I could use a trim. I hadn’t even thought about it.”

James frowned. He was willing to provide food and drink and—evidently—some reading material to the lame quartermaster, but a shave?

“I’ll go get Mr. Hawes,” said James. “He’s the closest thing to a barber—”

“I wouldn’t mind if you could do it,” Silver said, very quickly. James stopped mid-turn and looked down at him, still sporting his frown.

“I hardly think I’m qualified.”

“You trim your own beard and hair, do you not?”

“I—”

James froze. Yes of course he *could*, but Miranda often *had.* 

“I do now, yes,” he finished softly.

Somehow Silver understood his hesitation, had caught on to it like a hound.

“I’m sorry,” he said, struggling to sit up. “I didn’t mean to bring up her.”

James rolled his eyes, testing his armor. 

“It’s fine. If you really want me to I can. Not like I have anything better to do,” he said gruffly.

**Besides get drunk and try not to think about things.**

**Shut up, McGraw.**

After gathering the necessary tools he helped Silver into one of the chairs and began with his hair. Silver didn’t want it shortened much, just evened.

It felt so strange, his fingers sifting through the younger man’s hair. It was thin and more wavy than it was curly, with what James called a natural sheen to it…

Frowning, he kept his focus on the scissors, trying not to touch Silver’s hair more than was necessary.

He remembered the feel of dark yellow hair sifting through his fingers. He had trimmed his hair once, too.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, dropping his hands to his sides.

Silver twisted in the chair, alarmed.

“What? Did you fuck it up?”

“No, I didn’t fuck it up. I just…nevermind. It’s finished. Do you want the beard done?”

His voice was rough, too rough. Silver gave him the look of a wary rabbit.

“I’m not sure anymore. If you’d rather not…”

“It’s fine,” he grunted out, putting down the scissors and taking up a mortar bowl filled with cream and a razor.

James shifted himself into a kneeling position in front of the quartermaster and plied his face with shaving cream. Silver was looking over his head. That helped. What, exactly, it was helping James wasn’t certain. He only knew that being in such an intimate space with Silver made him uncomfortable.

He was halfway through the shave when he felt Silver’s eyes on him for a longer time than what was polite. Trying to ignore it, James very carefully scraped the razor underneath his chin, ridding him of the patchwork of stubble that had grown there. He caught a sharp whiff of something both bitter and sweet under the cream and recognized it as the tea Silver had been drinking. He inhaled it again. Silver was still watching him, face too close to his own to ignore it any longer. James paused the razor and looked at him.

“Well what?”

Whatever madness gripped the quartermaster James didn’t know, but in the next instant he found Silver’s lips plastered to his own and Silver’s hand holding his jaw not tightly but not loosely either.

James's whole body seemed to falter. He stumbled backwards and nearly fell but Silver came down with him, off his chair and onto the floor, nearly over top of him. Silver’s right hand shot out to catch himself, other hand clinging to James.

James jerked away from him, gasping.

“What the fuck?!”

Silver was looking up at him, lips parted, brows coming together to form a knot.

“I don’t know, I just thought…”

He trailed off. James rose to his feet and glowered down at him.

“Thought what? Is this your latest method to get in my good graces?”

Anger flashed through the younger man’s face. Jaw tight, Silver threw his arm behind him onto the seat of the chair and hauled himself up, hopping on his intact leg until he could grip the back of the chair and stand straight.

James balled his hands into fists. His mind automatically snapped into survival mode, unfurling the long list of ‘what ifs’ that he had created in case something like this should ever happen; in case he was ever caught with another man again. It was all on Silver. *He* was the one who had kissed *him.* Under the influence of opiates, of rum, of another fever perhaps.

“I thought I was already in your good graces,” said Silver defiantly. His deep blue eyes pierced into James's. Sneering, James stared back at him.

“Even if you were, what fucking madness made you think that was acceptable?”

“You really are something, you know that?” Silver shot back, eyes narrowing. “I’m not even going to explain myself because I know I don’t *need* to. And you know it as well.”

Silver turned and hopped his way back towards the window seat. James stood there, frozen once again.

“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” he yelled.

Silver reached the stern wall, planted a palm against it as he hopped around until he could sit again. He was drenched in sweat and panting but if anything he looked more alive, more angry than James had ever seen him.

“Maybe you think you can fool Billy, intimidate him so that he cowers beneath you, but not me.”

Silver leaned heavily against the wall. He still fixed his gaze on James but the anger was fading as his exertions took their toll and his eyes nearly closed. James took a step forward. He wanted to go to him, to hold up him and help him back onto the sill as much as he wanted to hate him.

**He’s always been like this and always will be, McGraw, worming his way into your crew, trying to take what he wants.**

**No. He’s changed. I can see it.**

**You see what he wants you to see.**

**Bullshit.**

James clenched his jaw tight. He strode over to the desk and swiped up the rum decanter then turned and left the cabin, doing his best not to slam the door behind him. He walked the few feet across the deck to the smaller master’s cabin and retreated inside before anyone could notice him.

The cabin was used strictly as an extra storage room and currently held a large heap of pirated canvas amongst other random stolen goods. With no windows it was a dank and slightly musty room but otherwise decent enough for his purposes.

He shoved some canvas off a crate and sat down, taking a long pull from the decanter.


	6. Chapter 6

VI.  
\------------------

Silver managed to haul his half leg up onto the sill. He drank the last of the water in his cup, then threw it angrily across the room. *Fuck.*

It was not the water he was upset with. He rubbed a thumb and index finger over his temple, trying to re-capture the scant few seconds his lips had touched his captain’s. He knew Flint would react, knew that he risked much by making so bold a maneuver. Yet for some stupid reason he thought that Flint would drop the pretenses. He thought he might at least acknowledge that they had a connection rather than the cold reception and claim of ignorance he’d received. Still, even that was something, wasn’t it?

He’d surprised the captain enough to the point where his defenses were down, and he also knew he had not imagined that Flint allowed their lips to be pressed together just a few seconds too long.

Their came a knock at the door.

“The captain’s not here,” he yelled out, wishing to be left alone.

Instead the door swung inward and Billy Bones stepped in. His eyes quickly swept over the room and Silver before landing on the discarded wooden goblet that rolled over the floor. Billy picked it up and walked over to Silver.

“Drop something?”

“Fuck off.”

Billy snorted.

“Fine. Do you know where Flint is?”

“Fallen overboard, I should hope.”

“Jesus, what’s he done now?”

Silver sighed heavily. He was tired. Tired and thirsty.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to sound as contrite as possible. “Would you mind getting me some water?”

Billy eyed him, frowning.

Silver winced. “I am sorry. I’m just sick of sitting here like a damn piece of ballast.”

Billy’s hard expression softened. He raised the goblet and Silver pointed him to the bottom shelf of the bookcase where the pitcher of water sat. Billy filled his cup and handed it to him. Then he pulled up a chair and sat backwards over it, arms folded along its back.

“You’re doing well, all things considered,” said Billy. His eyes fell to Silver’s missing leg.

“It’s still healing well?” he asked.

“Far as I know. Howl says after a few more days I can use that monstrous iron thing he’s made for me.”

“Better than a wooden leg, I can tell you,” said Billy. “Knew a man when I was still in the navy who had a wooden leg. Ended up with a musket ball blowing it to bits.”

Silver smiled at him ruefully.

“At least I won’t have to worry about that.”

“At least.”

Silver sighed again. He wanted to tell Billy to fuck off again (nicely). He really wanted to be angry with him for expressing his feelings to Flint but Silver found he could do neither. Billy Bones had been the closest thing he had to a friend. He wasn’t naïve about the bosun; he knew Billy distrusted him as much as Flint did, and yet he’d gone out of his way since Silver’s leg had been hacked off to make him feel…at home.

Silver took a drink and licked his lips. Billy rose to leave.

“Billy.”

Billy turned back to him.

“I never got a chance to thank you properly for helping me out of here after.”

Billy shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I told you, I’ve got your back.”

“No, it isn’t all right. I know that I still haven’t made up for all the trouble I’ve caused. I wanted you to know that I’m through with all that. You can tell the men as well. I really do want to be a part of the crew.”

It was shocking, how much he actually meant everything that came out of his mouth.

Billy gave him a crooked smile and nodded.

“Yes sir.”

Shocked again, Silver could only nod back, his throat suddenly tight at the acknowledgement of his new command. Jesus, here he was furthering his friendship with the guy who also happened to be eyeing the captain.

A sudden aching throb went through his stub. Silver gritted his teeth and reached out to massage it. The last of his latest dose of laudanum had worn off. Billy took his cup and filled it with tea but Silver shook his head.

“No. That shit makes me hallucinate. Howl said I’m addicted as it is.”

“You can’t quit all at once. Take a little, at least.”

Billy further pushed the cup towards him. Silver knew he was right. He’d heard stories about what happened when people were unable to get to their opium or laudanum; they acted crazy, their bodies revolting against them. Reluctantly he took the cup from Billy and took two swallows of the stuff and handed it back. Billy sat it down on the desk.

“Flint doesn’t trust me either yet,” he heard himself say. (Why?)

Another chuckle from Billy. Silver noticed how quickly he averted his gaze for a moment.

“Flint doesn’t trust anyone,” Billy replied, turning back to him. “And after Mrs. Barlow it’s only gonna get worse.”

“I think he trusts you,” said Silver carefully, watching Billy.

Billy’s smile was forced. He tried too hard, Silver thought, to appear careless about the matter.

“I dunno. Sometimes I think he does. Sometimes I think he’s a completely different person. And then…”

The bosun looked away again, distracted. He gripped his arm absently and shrugged.

“And then it’s like a lever has been pulled and the mask comes back down.”

He’d been too accurate with that description. Billy’s eyes shot back to his with sudden surprise.

“Something like that,” he muttered. Then he seemed to blink it away so that when he looked down at Silver again all the distractions were gone.

“I’m going to check the dry provisions again. We should be at the cay within the hour. Get some rest.”

Silver thanked him for the water and was once again alone with his thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

VII.  
\--------------

When they arrived at the cay there was indeed another pirate ship anchored several hundred yards from it. The cay itself sat upon a coral reef, making anchorage close by impossible. Flint signaled the captain of the other ship and then pulled the man o’ war up beside her so that boarding planks could be laid between the two vessels. He allowed a single launch to be deployed to the cay for whoever wished to do whatever it was they wanted to do onshore. Fucking in the bushes, he guessed.

Captain McAvoy of the Sea Sprite didn’t have a cat to spare but he consented to trading the cat if James agreed to give him a cask of rum. McAvoy understood what he was asking, and both captains knew that no crew ever wanted to barter away rum, but McAvoy explained he had been low on rum for weeks now and the men had none left.

James had agreed, knowing that their grain and oat supply was more important than their rum supply.

There was little news of import to be had from any of the pirate ports including Nassau, save that everyone knew the British were on their way to the West Indies and that everyone was preparing as best they could.

James avoided Billy for the next several days. He listened to ship’s business but then quickly and coldly cut Billy off when the other man attempted to draw anything more out of their conversations.

At night, lying in his hammock, his mind tore him in half between Silver and Billy.

One night he’d woken after a dream (or a nightmare; he wasn’t sure which) and as usual could not find sleep again. The ship was rocking harder than usual but he heard no thunder or lightning and he guessed they were coming upon a light storm. He listened as the smaller objects on his desk room rolled and clanked together lightly, keeping up a random din of sound. He should have put everything away but lately he’d let his desk become a mess so that now, the sounds further kept him from finding sleep.

James flipped over onto his back. He wished he could get up and get drunk. He had no idea of the time, but knew if he got pissed now he was too old to simply shake it off in the morning. He thought of his bosun’s strong and hard body pressed against him at the helm, how his breath teasing his ear alone had caused James's stomach to flip with sexual tension; how his hand had commanded his cock…

James shook away the thoughts, but it wasn’t long before he was thinking about Silver’s lips kissing him and how he had let them linger a second too long.

James's eyes popped open. God, but it was tempting to grab the rum again. He hadn’t gotten hammered the night in the master’s cabin but he’d been fairly tipsy when he’d left it. The liquor helped, of course, blurring his thoughts together until he couldn’t follow them. But he didn’t like getting that way, not really. He sighed miserably. How to stop his brain from its incessant chatter about his bosun and quartermaster?

**You could always think about HIM instead.**

**No. I cannot.**

**You can. You’re here, alone in the dark. It would help.**

**It would make everything worse.**

**That’s all in your head. Like HE is now. You don’t want to forget, do you?**

**Never.**

**Well then…**

James closed his eyes. After a moment his hand wondered down under the thin sheet over him and found the top of his breeches. He left it there for a long time, not ready to acknowledge what he meant to do.

He reached back into the recesses of his mind and brought the memories forth, still bright and vivid, like pulling out a dusty book whose pages were still crisp:

 

…A breeze blew, shuffling the leaves overhead and letting the sunlight dapple over Thomas's face. James watched him close his eyes, looking perfectly content.

“Thomas?”

The blue eyes opened. James pulled Thomas close. His breath smelled of the apples they’d eaten after lunch, mixed with the faint aroma of soap. Thomas kissed him, lightly at first, then deeper…

James pushed his hand underneath his breeches, loosening them. He shifted in his hammock, spreading his legs. He sifted through his catalogue of memories and pulled out another one:

 

...Thomas kissed him back. Their hands grappled over one another’s face and arms and neck. Thomas broke away and led him over to the white divan across from the fireplace. He sat James down on it and straddled him, pressing his lower half into James's crotch. James groaned. His cock awakened with ferocity. Thomas planted kisses over his mouth and jaw, trailing down his neck. His hands worked open the front of James's shirt, where he rubbed his hands greedily over his broad chest...

James swallowed, feeling his throat go dry. His hand slipped completely into his breeches and found his cock, already half-hard. He paused and glanced over the edge of the hammock, twisting to see the window sill. Silver was motionless. James watched him for a minute or two before returned to his own machinations.

He pulled the length of his shaft, mind quickly finding even more intimate moments:

 

“Mmm,” was all Thomas said, moving in to kiss his throat. He let his hands roam further down, until he had James panting helplessly against the wall, sheen of sweat gracing his forehead.

James turned and Thomas took him from behind. Even after three months, James was delighted to find that they maintained the same flawless, rhythmic dance they had created many months before their separation. Thomas fucked him tenderly, lovingly, moving his cock inside him at just the right pace, filling him up and making him whole...

James yanked down his breeches and jerked the sheets off him, eagerly pumping his cock. He ignored the constriction he felt on his heart. He felt a sharp jolt of heat through his body, his spine. His cock was hot and hard. He took his other hand and cupped his scrotum, pushing it up hard. He could almost feel Thomas again; the taste of his lips, his fingers, his thighs against his own. He imagined running his fingers through that thick yellow hair as Thomas took him, planting kisses and love marks wherever his mouth could reach…

James bit his tongue, trying not to moan out loud. He arched his hips, pulling furiously at himself as wet beads leaked out of his crown. He looked down at himself as another wave of pleasure—and bitter longing—swept over him like a rogue wave. His mind went to one of the most intense moments they’d ever had together, sending him spiraling downward into a painful lust:

 

...Thomas held firmly to his thigh, opening him so wide James thought he would split into. The resulting sensation of Thomas’s cock was so intense he thought he might pass out. Could a person pass out from pleasure? He couldn’t think on it, couldn’t focus on anything, in fact, except the man who had wrapped himself so tightly to James he wondered if they might not merge together… James screwed up his face and gritted his teeth and shouted into the hand clasped over his mouth when Thomas began pounding into him like the seven furies, his lithe and hot body draped over top of his own, pinning him there like an insect. His grip over James's mouth forced James’s head to tilt back. The heat rose too fast and furious. Thomas fucked into him with no mercy, flat stomach hitting against the small of James's back...

With a moan deep in his throat James spilled into his hands, jerking furiously at his cock and bucking wildly in the hammock. When it was done, he wiped the tears from his eyes but more took their place.

He wiped himself off and tucked himself back in. He rolled over, feeling more adrift than ever.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII.  
\----------------

They made it back to Nassau with little incident, save for taking a small merchant ship whose young and naïve captain had made a wrong turn and had sailed too far south, crossing their path.

As soon as James had seen the Union Jack flag, he’d ordered Billy and the rest of the men to show no mercy when they boarded. They must take every opportunity to send England a clear message, he told them.

He remembered Billy watching him the entire time, thick arms firmly crossed and expression blank—except that James now noticed other things, such as when Billy’s tongue would dart out to lick his lips whenever James glanced at him.

James made up his mind to ignore Billy while they were ashore. The first priority was confronting the captain of the crew who had taken his gold. Jack Rackham was no fighter and he didn’t think twice about the possibility of throttling the smaller man as soon as he laid eyes on him.

Charles Vane, however, kept him from doing so.

Vane had remained mostly silent during the journey home. He and James had spoken a few times about what to do with the gold and how James should handle Jack.

“Fuck that,” James had told him. “That little shit will answer for what he’s done.”  
Charles had agreed, but then he had also reminded James of the bigger picture and that things were not as they were when they had left Nassau.

Grudgingly James had agreed to a settlement: Jack and Max would be charged with rebuilding the fort and the rest of the island’s commerce, in addition to keeping the gold safe in the fort and not spending a single coin of it until further notice.

By the time all had been settled it was nearly dark. He rented a room at the inn, refusing to travel to the interior where Miranda’s house—their home—was. It would do him no good to go back there, not if he was to stay focused on the mission.

He was finishing a mug of ale and preparing to go to his room when Billy found him out. James downed the rest of the ale and put on a frown as Billy leaned on the bar top beside him, dark eyes glittering as always.

“A word, captain.”

“What is it?”

“Thomson, the tailor. He says he’s it’ll take an extra couple of days to get in that much cloth for the tunics. Everything else—the baldrics and extra weapons and headgear—all accounted for.”

“Good. Though I’m certain I told Thomson I’d speak to him in the morning,” James said, raising an eyebrow at Billy.

Billy shrugged, eyes gazing out at the crowd around him.

“Maybe I wanted to tell you sooner,” he replied casually. Too casually. James sighed.

“Billy. Look at me.”

Billy turned, expression a mix of seriousness and…expectation, perhaps? James needed to nip this now. He locked eyes with the taller man, not blinking.

“This ends now. Whatever dalliance we may have had is over with. Understand?”

To his surprise, Billy didn't flinch. Instead he smirked and looked out to the crowd. James waited, less than patiently for a response.

“No,” Billy said, turning to him again. “I don’t understand. What the fuck is your problem?”

James hissed and dragged Billy underneath the stairs in a few quick strides where less people were about.

“I don’t have a fucking problem,” he said, glaring at his bosun. “We had our fun. A little release in lieu of all the stress from our circumstances. It wasn’t anything more and now it’s done.”

He punctuated the last words with a finality he hoped would get through to Billy. Billy was looking at him with narrowed eyes and James got the feeling he was trying to decipher his captain.

“One more time?”

James blinked.

“What?”

“One more time,” Billy said again, his face growing soft. “We’re here anyway. Just a short trip upstairs to your room. Then I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”

James clenched his teeth. Damn him. He opened his mouth to decline the offer. Billy needed a good throttling of his own, perhaps. But as soon as James imagined punching Billy in the face he imagined the closeness of a brawl turning into something much more pleasurable.

Perhaps he was right. It seemed he hadn’t gotten his bosun out of his system yet. One more good fuck and then all would be done between them. Below that immediate thought came another one; the choice of spending another night alone and waking up to the nightmares versus fucking, then drinking and passing out until the next morning.

James ignored the thing deeper still, the voice whispering to him that even that was an excuse, that he wanted to be close to Billy…

“Fine,” he grunted at Billy. “One more night. Then we’re agreed it’s over.”

Billy nodded, expression going neutral again. “We’re agreed.”


	9. Chapter 9

IX.  
\---------------

Once they were inside James's room and the door was shut and locked, James began stripping. Billy stayed in front of the door, watching him and allowing a small grin to grace his face. James kept his eyes on him, finding himself easily aroused just by looking at Billy as he grew more and more bare in front of him. Billy waited until James was naked before even taking off his belt.

“Hurry the fuck up,” James said. He was half-hard as he watched Billy toss his belt aside and un-tuck his shirt, lifting it over his head and revealing the contoured lines of his seaman’s muscles. James inhaled sharply at the sight. How many times had he brazenly watched the bosun working with his shirt off? He remembered when they had careened the Walrus before going after the gold and the sight of Billy pulling on those ropes, one finely muscled arm reaching after the other, his nipples rock hard and his stomach pulled taunt.

James grabbed his cock and starting pulling as the memory filled his stomach with sexual butterflies. Billy had made it to his boots, setting them aside more hurriedly now as he watched his captain stroke himself. James grinned devilishly at him, enjoying the younger man’s lustful gaze.

Billy undid his trousers and pulled them off, making James stifle a moan as Billy’s cock bobbed out in the open, long and hard. Billy came to him in a few quick strides, arms wrapping themselves around James's shoulders and back and bringing him into a kiss.

The motion of it screamed passionate lover to James and he immediately pulled back, putting a few inches between them. He eyed Billy as he reached down and grabbed a hold of the bosun’s own member in a much less passionate way, funneling his hand and pulling rapidly on it. Even so it elicited a deep hum from Billy. He closed his eyes momentarily and seemed to surrender himself over to his captain.

Grinning again and feeling much more comfortable with this kind of control, James moved them to a wall and pressed Billy’s back against it. He let go of his cock and swiftly moved his fingers to Billy’s cleft. As soon as he felt the velvety warmth there and Billy’s rim, James's cock stiffened even more. He pressed a finger against the hole.

“No. Wait,” said Billy, voice low and thick. He pushed his palm against James's chest and backed him up, moving his own fingers behind James.

“Let me take you,” Billy whispered, lips brushing against his own.

James looked at him, brows furrowed. Warning bells went off in his head. It was one thing for him to fuck Billy; it was entirely another thing to allow Billy to fuck him. He had not allowed that act to happen, not since—

You know you want it, McGraw.

I cannot. It will mean too much, take me somewhere I’m not prepared to go.

“Please, let me,” Billy said, his fingers pressing gently over James's rim as his other hand found his cock. The sudden combination of pleasure made James audibly moan. Billy stroked him a few times and moved to cup his scrotum, his middle finger stretching its way under James and to the tip of his hole. Billy had effectively trapped him in place.

“I give the orders, Billy, not you,” said James.

Billy looked at him with hooded eyes and parted lips and James found himself kissing the bosun fiercely because of it, hand coming up to grab at his jaw. He squeezed it just enough to hurt Billy, keeping his head still as he forced his tongue inside Billy’s mouth to let him know that he was serious. He gave the orders; he was in charge.

The action brought him back inside his comfort zone, but then Billy plunged his fingers inside him. A too sharp jolt of pain and pleasure rocked James.

“Huunnh!”

He panted into Billy’s open mouth.

“Then order me to fuck you,” said Billy.

James looked at him, mildly astonished at his ballsy behavior and severely aroused by it. Billy was openly threatening their entire experience here, didn’t he realize that? Why wouldn’t he just let himself be dominated again? And yet he did want Billy that way, very badly. He let his mind slip for a second, imagining Billy filling him up…

No, damnit.

James forcibly broke away from him and pushed Billy into the wall, hard. He shoved his arm into the bosun’s throat, pressing against his Adam’s Apple and glaring at him.

“We do this my way or not at all,” James growled.

Gritting his teeth, Billy fought him, knocking his head against James's hard enough for James to lose his grip. Billy shoved him back and pushed himself off the wall. His anger aroused, James slammed into him again. Billy hit the wall on his left shoulder but he managed to punch James in the stomach.

“Ah fuck!”

It was hard enough to give him pause.

“Fuck you,” Billy said, jabbing a finger through the air at him.

Billy stepped away from him, chest heaving and cheeks flushed.

Dear God, James realized, he was beautiful like this.

Billy made to pick his clothes up in a flurry.

“Stop,” said James. It was a command. He wasn’t sure it was right. Billy ignored him.

“Stop, please,” he said, softening his voice just enough. Billy slowly turned to him, shirt hanging from his hand. James looked at him. Billy’s chest was still heaving, his angry eyes positively dancing at him and his cock was rock-hard.

James felt a lust rise in him that was ten times more powerful that what he had felt in the storage room with Billy. It boarded on outright need, but if he were to get any of Billy at all, he’d have to sacrifice some control.

He walked over to the bed and stood facing Billy at its edge.

“I still want you,” he said, letting his eyes explore Billy’s fine form again and making certain Billy had a full view of his cock.

Billy’s eyes mirrored James's, searching his captain and once again filling with more lust than anger. Then Billy smirked, hard lines over his brow softening.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” he said.

His voice put James at ease again and gave him some measure of control back. Just enough, he figured, for him to climb onto the bed knee-first (which he did), spread his legs and lean on his knuckles (which he also did).

“Then fuck me already,” he said in a voice caught between the distant past and present.

In no time Billy was behind him, the bed shifting under their combined weight as James felt Billy’s legs and the press of his hands on his rump. Billy stuck a thumb inside James. His breath stuttered as the sharp pain-pleasure came back, but this time it was better. Billy played with him for a few moments, removing his thumb and then inserting two fingers and wiggling them.

James moaned out loud at that; a tease of what it would be like with his bosun inside him. He moved his hips, encouraging Billy until he felt the press of something much larger at his rim.

“Are you ready?” Billy asked softly.

Again James heard too much care in the question but he ignored it. A good fuck. That was all.

“Do it,” he said.


	10. Chapter 10

X.  
\------------

James tried.

He tried to remain keen, to plan out this encounter, but the moment Billy’s cock entered him he was flooded with invasive warmth and it dimmed his wits.

On his knees, submissive before his bosun, James's fingers dug into the sheets of the bed as Billy mounted him. He had James's hips in his hands, pulling him into his cock as he began to thrust.

James steeled himself, not allowing the various sounds of pleasure that built up in his gullet to escape. Yes, it felt good; There was no denying that pleasure that Billy was giving him and he would have gloriously basked in it—except he was Billy’s captain and this—**He’s finally inside you!**—no matter how good it felt, could not be allowed to grow into anything more…

His thoughts scattered to the wind as Billy fucked him. James felt Billy’s body drape itself over his back, his hot breath tickling the back of James's neck and sending a warm shiver down his spine. He was tensed; too tense and Billy took notice.

“Stop resisting,” he whispered.

A hand curled up to James's neck. Billy’s long fingers touched his collarbone as he forced himself inside him. James's eyes closed as another ripple of pure heat spilled over him. **Just a few moment to enjoy this**, he thought. **Just a few moments to let go couldn’t possibly hurt.**

He complied to Billy’s whisper and relaxed his muscles. Billy set a steady pace. It wasn’t slow or fast but it sure as hell was fucking amazing. James's body was tingling with an energy so long turned off and shut away he scarcely recognized it as it roared back to life inside him. Feeling overwhelmed, he struggled to regain control.

**But Jesus, he feels good. Why should I deny this?**

**Because it will ruin you. Just like it did before.**

**Maybe not. That was different.**

**Yes, it will. Always. You promised. Just meaningless fucks. No attachments.**

No attachments…

James's eyes popped open as Billy shifted and rolled his hips, his cock brushing against James's spot. A moan finally escaped James's lips before he could still it.

“Harder. Faster,” he rasped out. They needed to hurry and finish so his damned bosun could stop tormenting him so.

He expected to feel Billy start to pound him and to abandon all thoughts of James for his own desire. That James was used to. He had even learned to cling on to the scant few moments of bliss it brought.

Instead, Billy kept fucking him in that same steady pace, kissing his neck and causing more sweet shivers to shoot down him. His cock stilled for a moment as he shifted so his hands could cup James's broad, freckled shoulders rather perfectly, then slide their way down over his arms, seeming to pause over every contour of muscle as if he were memorizing them.

James clenched his jaw but the groan escaped him just the same. It wasn’t all pleasure this time. The movement was too tender, too kind for him and his chest tightened painfully as the feelings crept up to constrict his heart, cruelly reminding him of what he had lost.

“Just fuck me already, damn you!” he spat out.

Billy made a sound—frustration?—and then James felt his cock slide out of him completely, leaving him hollow and wanting. He let out a shaky sigh and turned to see Billy.

Billy sat back on his knees, brow knotted in concern. He pressed his lips into a tight line though his cheeks were flushed and his eyes still lidded. James watched his chest rise and fall as Billy let out a slow sigh. Though he found himself feeling grateful for the respite, James saw they were both still far too into the moment to simply quit.

“What is it?” he huffed out, trying not to pant so much.

He now understood the look of concentration over his bosun’s face; of how something had snagged Billy’s concern. Billy slid up to him and kissed him hesitantly, tongue barely touching James's lips. James nipped him back with the same restraint. Why? What the fuck was happening?

Then Billy half- pushed, half- positioned himself over James to gently force him down on his back and James—for a precious second—complied without thinking.

As Billy loomed over him he tensed again, grabbing hold of Billy’s arms as he bracketed James with them, his erection warm and hard and brushing against James's stomach.

“I already told you, not this way,” James said in a warning tone, though it was much weaker than he’d intended.

Billy seemed to falter for a second, then his face hardened.

“I don’t believe you.”

James blinked. His head was muddled again, his cock too hard and Billy too gorgeous for him to consider another protest.

“I have reasons,” he replied. He let his eyes search Billy’s. Billy’s eyes shone down at him like two brilliant black pearls through a lidded haze of lust that James still couldn’t quite comprehend was all for him.

Billy was positioned himself to take him again, to fuck him on his back. The warning bells in James's head were positively roaring now, telling him not to allow this, but right behind the din came a voice shouting quite the opposite at him and in his uncertainty Billy made his move.

James raised his palms and braced them against the front of Billy’s shoulders, pushing against him yet gripping him at the same time as his bosun pushed his cock inside James again.

“Oh fuck James!”

Billy uttered the sentiment in a shaken whisper so full of raw desire, eyes closing, that James thought he might go off then and there.

And Billy started fucking him, easily sliding back and forth in him and James felt himself losing his hard-won battle as fragments of memories slipped through the ragged wounds of his heart, filling him with longing and lust and an outright, burning *need* for more than just a good fuck.

Still he fought on, keeping his eyes open and pushing against Billy as Billy fucked him, slow and steady and with more passion than before; fucked him like a lover and not the way a bosun should ever fuck his captain and oh God…

James moaned at the feel of Billy inside him, pushing against him, opening and filling him. The warmth that spread throughout his body, from his toes to his head, was undeniable. And it wasn’t simply physical heat and he knew it and tried desperately to keep it at bay a little while longer but Billy was making it impossible.

James felt the heat quickly rising. A groan slipped through his clenched jaw. Just sex, it was just sex and only sex and nothing more…

Billy pulled himself nearly all the way out before gently sliding back inside James, causing his captain to shudder under him. No matter what words he forced in his mind James couldn’t convince himself this was only sex, not with the way Billy was whispering curses of pleasure and kissing his throat and fucking him so sweetly, like he genuinely cared.

That thought nearly caused James to stop breathing altogether. Billy wasn’t one to put on a show for no reason, to use deception as part of his daily existence. Briefly James thought of Silver. No, Billy was not Silver. Then again Silver wasn’t like that anymore either. Billy was Billy. Billy cared. For *him.*

“Touch me, captain,” Billy breathed out almost painfully, his lips hovering over James's.

“Please, just touch me.”

Up until this point the only contact James had given him had been to aid his own resistance against whatever witches’ spell Billy was weaving over him, his palms still sweaty and plastered to the boy’s shoulders.

Now, hearing Billy nearly beg him for something more caused James's wounded heart to split open, spilling out the twisted mass of his past and of James McGraw and old friendships and there was Thomas Hamilton, kissing him and begging him in that same breathless tone and James lost it.

He melted into the bed, dropping his hands from Billy’s shoulders and instead wrapping them under his strong arms and up to his back. He drew his knees up, legs clutching at the hard body that dominated over him, moving and thrusting inside him and making him feel whole again.

Billy let out a soft moan in response, kissing him fiercely on the lips. James returned it, clinging to Billy harder. Billy fucked him harder, his cock pumping James and causing his eyes to roll back in his head. His entire body tingled with want, with need, with every touch Billy gave him.

Then Billy took hold of his cock and jerked him. It was too much. James clasped the back of Billy’s neck as Billy buried his face in the crook of his shoulder, panting out of control.

“Oh fuck Billy,” James rasped out as his climax exploded from him. His muscles spasmed as he bucked up into Billy. Billy muttered something incomprehensible and James felt him come moments later.

Billy bucked into him as he spilled and James forgot about every other thing in his life, even England and Miranda, for a few precious seconds.

He slowly loosened his grip on his bosun, legs sliding down and hands coming to his sides. Billy pushed himself up and off of him, rolling over beside him on the bed. The only sounds were the dim and muffled voices coming from downstairs and their own heavy breathing.


	11. Chapter 11

XI.  
\--------------

They put their clothes on in silence. It took James several long minutes to recover himself, to inwardly stitch up all the jagged wounds Billy had opened. He looked up as Billy finished pulling on his boots and stood. He looked expectant, as though nothing James had said about their non-existent relationship had mattered. Damn it, how long would the boy keep this up?

“You can go now,” said James, nodding at the door.

Billy frowned at him, then laughed silently without mirth. He walked towards the door but stopped and turned back, arms crossed.

“You may have nothing to say, but I sure as hell do.”

James inhaled slowly. So at last. He had no clue what was on the bosun’s mind; Billy was like him in that regard, keeping his personal thoughts close to him. James admitted to himself he was curious.

This isn’t easy, you know,” said Billy. “You think I like wanting you, following you around like a fucking dog, begging for attention?”

The words he spoke were full of a contempt that surprised James.

“I tried for so long…to hate you,” said Billy, uncrossing his arms but remaining rigid in the middle of the floor.

“I wanted to so badly. I could forgive you for so many things…”

He trailed off and closed his eyes as though it hurt to keep them open. James resisted the urge to step to him and touch his arm. He stood his ground instead. Billy opened his eyes.

“I owed you. You know that. For saving me from that hell on board that navy ship. We both know what kind of life I would have had, little more than a slave’s. So I owed you, and I felt I always would.”

James saw Billy’s jaw tighten, his glittering black eyes full of fire.

“I saved your life countless times. You’ve save mine a few. Even during that bloody storm, when I lost your hand and fell, even that I could forgive. But not Gates. Never Gates.”

Now James did step towards him, a sudden desire to close the gap between them urging his feet to move.

“I told you, I’ll regret that for the rest of my life--”

“Well fucking good for you!” Billy spat at him, fists balling up at his sides. “That’s not enough. That was when I stopped giving a shit about what I might owe you. Even after I returned to the crew, to you, I was set on leaving. I could find work with another crew easy enough. But then, that night of the voting between you and Hornigold, when I sat down and we talked about the night I fell…”

Billy’s words faltered again and the contempt written into his voice faded, though James knew better than to step any closer. He realized his heart was like a caged animal trying to escape the confines of his chest. What was Billy getting at?

Billy’s lowered head raised to look at him, his voice low and soft.

“Being that close to you, seeing something other than anger on your face, some…fuck, I don’t know…something *soft* there…I fucking fell for you all over again, same as when you offered me your hand that day on that navy ship. So yea, it isn’t easy for me to admit I care for you when common sense tells me to hate you, you bastard!”

Billy’s chest was heaving and James saw the moisture in his eyes even as they looked at him with a simmering anger. A thick chunk of nothing had formed in James's throat that he couldn’t quite swallow.

**Now is your chance. Tell him!**

**Tell him what? That I want him just as much as he wants me and run into his arms? Or that he should stay away because I’m too fucked up and he deserves so much better than a ruined man?**

James forced the thick thing in his throat down as best he could. Then he dragged his eyes to meet Billy’s, resolve firmly in place.

“Sorry this is difficult for you. I tried to tell you. Now if you don’t mind I’d like to get some sleep.”

Billy gave him the closest thing to a sneer James had seen, beautiful dark eyes wet and wounded, before brushing past him to the door and slamming it shut behind him.

James stood rooted to the spot in his bosun’s wake, paralyzed. He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. Sleep, yes. That’s all he needed. He was tired. He’d feel better in the morning.

He turned back towards the bed and instead swiped an arm across the chest of drawers, knocking all manner of china and glass crashing to the floor. He picked up the room’s single chair and hurled it into the drawers hard enough to break one of its legs.

He forced the image of Miranda into his head then, of the small and perfectly round hole the bullet made into her skull. Blood. Peter Ashe. Colonel Rhett. The leering and cheering faces of the crowd.

The two children, a boy and a girl, staring at him like he was an animal before their mother ushered them away.

He lay down on the bed, the tears in his eyes eventually drying. Instead of sleep he formulated the rest of his plan: Bridgetown, St.Kitts, Martinique, and Nevis for starters. The names of exactly where they would hit and in what order, and who would pay the price for going against his decree.


	12. Chapter 12

XII.  
\------------

James avoided both quartermaster and bosun for the next several days, keeping their conversations strictly about business and usually conducting them on the quarter or main deck. James didn’t like the idea of the three of them in the smaller space of the warship’s cabin. He did his best not to dwell on the reasons why, figuring that after enough time passed both of them would get over their fancy of him. As for himself, he found the best strategy to not to think about either of them was, as always, to think about his vengeance instead.

The mission helped.

They hit Bridgetown first, creeping up to its harbor in the dead of night. As James had predicted, the town hadn’t been expecting a raid such as the one he’d planned—his strongest crew, clad from head to toe in black, invading the town and immediately shooting anyone in their way. There was no time (nor no men left) for Bridgetown to mount any real defense.

He had been demanding the location of the town’s magistrate, slitting throats and killing the men who refused him, when he heard a familiar voice yell out to his left.

He turned. The crewman was clad in black, scarf around his face, but James recognized the glittering black pearl eyes immediately. Billy was engaged with two men who looked like local militia. They had forced him up against a fence, swords clashing furiously. Billy’s sword caught against of theirs, a leg coming up to kick out against the second attacker but the man managed to slash Billy’s leg before stumbling back. It wasn’t a shallow cut, either.

Billy yelled out and faltered. Heart in his throat, James covered the distance between them in a few long, rushed strides, taking down the second man from behind and running his sword through his back. With a cry the man dropped.

Billy regained his footing. James caught his gaze and together they finished off the other opponent. James was ready to turn and continue their progress into the town, but a glance down at Billy’s leg stopped him.

“I can manage,” said Billy, though he was already favoring the leg. James glanced at the chaos around them. No immediate danger. He bent down to Billy’s leg. The pants were sliced open, the wound fairly deep. He put a palm to Billy’s black pants, his hand coming away completely covered in blood already.

“You’re bleeding too much,” he said. “Come here.”

James offered his arm and Billy accepted it, leaning into him. James started back the way they had come.

“No,” said Billy, stopping them. “We’ve got to take care of the magistrate. I can get someone else.”

James looked at him. Billy’s jaw was set. James felt an echo of Billy’s anger towards him boiling up again. Even now, he was choosing to be bull-headed about it. James looked around them. All the other men were engaged in fighting off whatever force the town had mustered. They were in the thick of the raid.

“There is no one else,” said James. He tried to pull Billy along but again Billy refused.

“If we leave without killing the magistrate, what the fuck are we doing?” he said, trying not to show his pain.

“Captain!”

James turned. The voice was DeGroot’s.

“The magistrate’s house is there!”

DeGroot pointed with his sword, the fallen body of the informant at his feet. James followed the sword to a large house behind them and to the right. James nodded wordlessly. Beside him Billy grimaced again. James pulled the scarf away from his own face, feeling his chest tighten at the look of pain scrawled across the boson’s face. He looked paler already. The house wasn’t far. He quickly judged that Billy could make it there.

“Come on,” said James. Together they half walked, half limped towards the abode. The voice in his head flared to life.

**What the hell are you doing? He’s going to bleed out.**

**He’ll make it. I’ll wrap the wound as soon as we get inside.**

**You’re risking his life. Billy’s life…**

James shook away the thoughts. They made it without incident to the bottom of the stairs. Around them the sounds of the skirmish were growing quieter, with the shouts and gunfire becoming more intermittent.

Billy leaned heavily against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, panting and sweating.

“We’ve got to keep moving,” said James.

Billy looked at him, eyes dull.

“Alright. One second.”

“Now.”

James felt his fear for Billy rising. He wasn’t afraid of dying here and now, not afraid of the sword or bullet that would come out of nowhere to hit him, but *this*, this caring for the life beside him filled him with dread. It wasn’t supposed to happen to him. Not again. Yet it was.

They climbed the stairs. James's chest tightened further when he glanced back and saw the trail of blood Billy was leaving behind them. He pulled Billy harder, gritting his teeth against the occasional whimper that came from him, yet Billy said nothing about it as they reached the main door at last.

James propped him against the wall and barged inside. He said little to the man holed up within, shooting him promptly before he could allow any guilt to creep up while the man still drew breath. Once it was done and the magistrate dead with a hole in the head he turned back to Billy and pulled him inside.

Billy half sat, half slumped onto the bed. James used his scarf to wrap the wound on his leg, pulling the fabric tight and tying it. Billy’s eyes drifted to the bedside table, where there was a pitcher of water. James grabbed it and gave it to him. Billy tried to hold it but his grasp was weak. James caught the jug before it could shatter to the floor. Both of their hands gripped it. Their eyes met again and James forced himself to look down as he helped Billy raise the pitcher to his lips.

“Don’t move,” said James. “I’m going to get help.”

With another crew member James returned a few minutes later and they both hauled Billy out of the house and back to the beach. James hopped in the launch with him, his heart beating wildly the entire trip back to the warship.

By the time they had reached it he was holding Billy’s hand, or was Billy holding his?

James untangled them and helped him back onto the ship, cursing himself for not having returned to the beach immediately. Billy looked even paler now but was still conscious. Dr. Howl was there, ready to help with any injured. Headless of the wounds of anybody else, James shoved Billy to Howl.

“My cabin,” said James. “It’s closer.”

With a quick nod Howl complied, his bag of medical supplies in one hand and his other supporting the injured bosun.

As Howl tended to the wound, James watched Billy closely. His eyes fluttered open and closed. He started to speak. James bent down, ear close to his lips.

“Was it…a success?”

Clearly he didn’t even remember the magistrate’s house. James nodded, wishing to God he had his scarf over his face right now out of fear that Howl or Billy or both would read the worry there.

“Yes, the magistrate’s dead. It was a success.”

“Mmm,” was all Billy managed, his eyes closing again.


	13. Chapter 13

XIII.  
\--------------

Images of faces filled his vision as Billy drifted in and out of consciousness.

First there was Howl, bending over him, saying his name perhaps. Billy had mumbled out a response. Howl turned and spoke to someone else. Billy could sense other bodies around him but everything faded again.

The next time he woke he saw Flint. Only it didn’t look like Flint, because Flint’s face was full of raw worry, deep lines etched into his forehead, and he was looking right at Billy.

The third time Billy woke he stayed awake and everything took on a much more solid shape. His head felt clear as he blinked and looked around. He was in his hammock swinging alongside his brothers. The brother who sat beside him shifted his heavy iron leg, lips coming up in a half smile as Billy stirred.

“There you are,” said Silver. “About fucking time.”

There was no menace in his voice, and the smile widened.

Billy tried to sit up and immediately winced in pain.

“Careful,” warned Silver. “It’ll heal fine, Howl said, but it will be sore for a while.”

Billy looked down at his leg. Howl had cut up the seam of his pants almost to his thigh. There was a mass of bandages wound around his leg. A small amount of crimson seeped through.

“Did he get it all out?” Billy asked, struggling to sit up. Silver handed him a cup of water.

“He did. With Flint’s help.”

Billy’s eyes shot to Silver. Silver was looking at him with a giant question mark written on his face. Billy ignored it.

“In fact,” Silver pressed, “the captain stayed with you the entire time you were out. I’m sure he just wanted to make certain the ship’s bosun would pull through.”

Billy finished the water and looked at him, irritated.

“What are you fishing for? I just woke up. I feel lousy.”

Silver pursed his lips. “Sorry. I’ll tell the captain you’re awake.”

***

That night Silver lay awake in the captain’s cabin, staring out at the full moon from the stern window. He should have been in his own hammock with the rest of the crew; he hadn’t actually needed to stay in Flint’s cabin for some time—a week? Perhaps longer?

Yet despite Silver’s certainty that Flint would kick him out he had not. In fact his presence as the captain’s new roommate hardly seemed to be of concern to Flint and he had kept reading to Silver.

Now, lying awake and thinking about the man, Silver warned himself to be wary. In these quarters, where the two of them seemed to get along, he had to remind himself that it was never this way when they were on duty or among the men.

They had bickered over Flint’s mission and what towns to hit and when, had bickered over rations and other even more trivial things. It seemed that the cabin was cast in a spell; within its confines all was peaceful, but once the two of them left it the tension between them came crashing back.

And then there was Billy, whom Silver might even consider a friend at this point, and yet he’d been right here, on this sill, when the bosun had cleared the air about Flint’s fancies towards him. The idea of Flint fucking Billy didn’t set well with Silver.

Silver wondered why that was and how it seemed to coincide with Flint’s ever-increasing carelessness for his own safety.

That thought led to other thoughts about Flint that Silver couldn’t even begin to understand, aside from the undeniable fact everyone knew, which was that Ms. Barlow’s death was having a dire effect on his well being.

Silver sighed and forced the thoughts away. He sure as hell couldn’t fix Flint, and wasn’t sure if he was up to the challenge of trying. But more and more he was thinking of his captain in other ways…

Silver leaned his head out past the stern wall. Flint’s still form was in his hammock, sound asleep. Not for the first time since he’d cut way down on the laudanum Silver imagined what Flint would look like naked and fully aroused. He imagined what his lips would taste like, how his hard body would feel wrapped around himself.

Silver’s hand wondered down to his trousers and unbuttoned them. He grabbed his cock and started pulling. It didn’t take long for him to grow hard, imagining himself with Flint.

***

James gasped and woke. He nearly bolted upright in the hammock. Instead he clutched its edges. His heart was racing and he was soaked with sweat. Damnation.

The nightmare had been horrid, and though the details were already fading away the feeling it left him was strong, like a paralyzing terror coming towards him that he was unable to stop. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. He swallowed. His throat was parched. He shifted in the hammock and tucked his arm behind his head, waiting as his heart slowed.

Gradually he was aware of another sound in the room, coming from the stern window. James propped himself up on an elbow and turned his head. There still remained the single flame of a candle snub burning on his desk, left there as Silver had read one of his books earlier. Now, the dim light revealed Silver, lying across the seat. He’d thrown off his covers and was...James blinked and looked harder.

Silver’s hand was hard at work, pumping himself. Small noises came from his throat. The bluish moonlight also illuminated his bare chest and the beads of sweat there if James squinted. No, no. Not this.

James made to sit up, to speak, but the words caught in his throat. What in the hell would he say? No, it would be best to let Silver finish. He would just pretend he hadn’t noticed. Why should he deny the man a bit of pleasure, after all he’d been through?

Yet instead of lying back down James couldn’t pull his eyes away from the sight. He felt his own groin suddenly come to life. When the candle flickered in the right direction he could even make out Silver’s face. His eyes closed, then opened and looked down fiercely at himself. James's own breathing was growing short. He was ready to pull out his own cock.

The idea seized him without warning and he let it take hold. Compulsively he sat up and left his hammock, crossing the room swiftly so that by the time Silver had noticed him James was nearly at his desk.

Silver’s eyes widened, lips parted. He removed his hand and quickly pulled the covers up over himself, though not before James had seen his rock-hard cock and not before the quick glimpse had forced a small gasp from him.

“Jesus, what are you doing?” asked Silver in dismay.

James ignored the question and came right up to the sill, planting a palm against the wall as if he meant to trap Silver there. Silver struggled to sit up. James saw the alarms bells going off in his head.

“What the fuck is it?” Silver demanded.

James looked at him in the orange-blue light and how it seemed to make his dark skin glow. Silver’s hair was completely loose, hanging about his shoulders and some strands clinging to his face. James finally allowed the word he’d been forcing from his thoughts for a long time to enter his conscious: *Beautiful.* John Silver was fucking beautiful.

“Do you want me?” James asked. He didn’t bother keeping the desire from lacing his tone. It had the effect of giving the quartermaster pause.

Silver’s eyes met his, irises nearly black. James made a show of trailing his eyes down Silver’s form and to the still erect organ under the covers. Silver’s Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“What new game is this?” he asked, looking as though he was ready to go on the offensive any second. James found it made his stomach flip and his cock stirred even more.

“I’m serious,” he replied. He slowly sank down into a crouch, palm sliding down the wall, until his eyes were level with Silver’s.

“Do you want me?”

Some of the wariness in Silver faded, replaced by tentative desire. He parted his lips to answer, and James was shocked by how much willpower it took not to lash out and kiss him.

“Yes,” breathed out Silver. “Yes I want you.”

A thousand different voices were clamoring in James's head but he shut them all out, not giving a damn. Instead he let his compulsion drive him further, until his lips were planted firmly against his quarter master’s, and a sexual fire engulfed his entire being.

Silver greedily took his mouth. When James pulled back he was amazed to see a look of unbridled lust fill up his quartermaster’s face, lips parting and a glimmer of his old impish self shining in his eyes.

Silver shifted and propped himself up on his elbows as James climbed onto the sill. He yanked away the covers, exposing Silver’s thick and hard cock. James unbuttoned his own pants hastily, watching as Silver followed his every move.

“Jesus,” Silver muttered.

“To be clear,” said James, “this isn’t the beginning of *any*thing.”

He eyed Silver through his brow, his hands stilling themselves.

“This is just this, period. Understood?”

Silver’s brows furrowed as though he were confused, though his lips curved upward.

“Of course,” he replied. “What else would it be?”

The question wasn’t even a question, and James realized then that there was no deeper wanting attached to Silver’s willingness to be fucked by his captain, that the smoldering James felt growing between them didn’t pass into some other, more dangerous liaison—of the kind he worried about with Billy.

Satisfied then, James dropped his pants and took hold of cock, pulling on it in front of Silver until he was fully hard. Then Silver reached up and grabbed a fistful of James's shirt and James let himself be pulled down over top his quartermaster. Their lips clashed again and James dug his fingers into Silver’s mass of jet black hair, pulling on it as their cocks rubbed together between them. He helped Silver pull down his trousers, reveling at the feel of rarely-seen or touched Silver-skin beneath his palms.

“Here,” Silver rasped out. He produced a small bottle of oil. James raised an eye at him. Silver shrugged.

“I don’t imagine I’m the only one whose hands become extra fidgety after a while,” he quipped.

With a small snort James took the oil and lubricated his hands with it, then snaked his arm down between them until he found Silver’s rim.

What the fuck was he doing?

He ignored the question that jolted through his brain. He was relieving tension. He was giving the two of them some desperately needed common ground, maybe helping Silver take his mind off his leg. All true, but all excuses.

He was lying with someone other than Billy.

Billy, whose name was now synonymous in James's mind with light and warmth and some intrinsic goodness he’d long forgotten could exist in people. And perhaps Silver was those things too, but not to him. Right now, he just wanted to forget all about Billy and his damned goodness and just fuck.

He opened Silver’s hole, slickening him and making him hum in his throat. He let Silver plant his lips on his neck, his shoulder, let him shift so he could open his legs even more. Then James withdrew his fingers and wasted little time in slowly pushing himself inside his quartermaster. He guided his cock in, watching as Silver gasped, swollen lips parting and eyes closing. James stifled the moan in his own throat at the feel of Silver tight around him.

Once they were comfortable James set a quick pace, causing both of them to momentarily forget to breathe.

“Oh fuck,” said Silver, gripping James's shoulders tight. James moaned, resting his forehead on the hard surface of Silver’s chest momentarily. He pushed his cock in quick bursts inside the other man, making the heat build in him faster and faster. He felt Silver claw at him, wrap his legs around the small of his back, trying desperately to meld James to him.

James was quickly overwhelmed. Yes, this, and just this was what he needed. He let all his thoughts and demons and voices fall to the floor and let the pent-up heat rise instead, until his cock was throbbing inside Silver and Silver was panting uncontrollably beneath him. Then James pushed himself up so that he was on his knees. He took hold of Silver’s bare thighs—mindful of Silver’s half-leg—and jerked, pulling Silver into his cock once more. Silver was covered in sweat, eyes lidded and black. He looked like a drunk man craving more drink, and James knew the look was reflected in his own eyes.

James fucked him as fast and hard as he could then, his cock begging for release. Silver called out curses and arched his back, face contorting.

A long and low moan escaped James as the heat became a torturing pleasure he couldn’t stand and he exploded inside Silver, face going slack. He squeezed his eyes shut, enjoying every last second as he came, hands still gripping Silver’s thighs. At last he pulled out and disengaged himself from the mass of limbs and body parts they had become. They pulled on their pants and adjusted their clothes in silence, save for their heavy breathing. Silver spoke first.

“Well, that was…unexpected.”

He pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the sill, looking at James with something approaching mirth. James eyed him warily.

“Like I said—”

“Yes, I know,” Silver cut him off, raising a hand. “It was what it was, no strings attached. And I know why. Obviously neither of us have had an outlet for a while, and I’m hoping that will quell our constant bickering, yes?”

James grunted. He walked over to the portside wall and poured some water into a bowl, splashing his face with it and then handing it to Silver, saying nothing.

His body had that familiar jelly-like feeling; the tension gone for now. Yes, it had been good. Silver was good, had felt good, had come good, and even now as James regarded the other man he felt no inkling of anything more. And from Silver there were no puppy eyes or strange smiles, no hints that Silver would want more of this later down the road.

And images of Billy filled James's mind before he could stop them.

**That is what you want. Silver won’t satiate you.**

**He could. If I wanted him to.**

**No.**

James laid back down in his hammock as the last of candle burnt itself out and cast the room in shadows bluish from the moonlight. Along with the light James felt his hard-won respite of numbness leave as well. The lust was gone, the fleeting desire, and along with it came the ache for a particular pair of arms to be around him, of well-trimmed and soft hair beneath his fingers again, those necklaces clacking together softly as Billy leaned over him.

“No.”

The word barely flitted over his lips, but his resolve behind them was strong. The mission was what mattered. Whatever feelings he had for Billy would have to wait. There was no time for it. He laid there and went over the plan for the tenth time in his head, imaging the cowering faces of men who had so smugly hung his brethren; imagined them cowering before him and begging for mercy. Then he imagined showing none and putting a bullet in their heads, the way Colonel Rhett had done so easily to Miranda. He imagined taking his sword to them as well, imagined all their faces as Alfred Hamilton’s, and why not? As far as he was concerned, they were all the same to him. Everyone had taken and taken and taken from him. Now James let the realization sink into his very marrow that he didn’t give a shit about any of them or their families or their cares in the world. And the truth was…the truth was…

James let out a shaky sigh but he could no longer muster tears for himself. The truth was no Englishman cared for him either, nor his crew, nor any of allies in Nassau or elsewhere. He was respected at best, hated and feared more often than not. Never loved.

And that’s how it should be, he told himself before closing his eyes at last.

In the space between wakefulness and dreams he pictured his bosun once more before everything faded away.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! It's done. Thanks so much to everyone who is reading/has read this! I'm so happy this many people can get into blint. I only hope I don't disappoint anyone with how things end--I tried to keep enough emphasis on Flint and Silver's developing relationship at this time while still putting more emphasis on Flint and Billy that we haven't gotten on the show. Enjoy!

XIV.  
\---------------

The evening was balmy and calm when Billy crossed the deck to the captain’s quarters. He didn’t know why he’d been summoned, which was unusual. They’d just completed another successful raid, with Flint making his point as brutally as ever. Billy found himself staying close by the captain more often than not during the attacks—and had glanced up on more than one occasion to find Flint close to him, eyes keen.

Now, the crew around him was at relative ease, still celebrating what they deemed another victory for piracy.

Billy, however, found himself feeling on edge long after the battle was won. The brutality he’d witnessed from Flint just kept escalating and he wanted nothing more than to know how to ease his captain’s pain—a pain which was obvious to them all but only acknowledged by two.

He held back a self-deprecating laugh as he neared the captain’s door. The truth was he was bitter over his own anxiety towards James. The memory of his rejection at the inn still stung a little too much. If James were going to say even a single word about the incident, even to apologize, Billy had made up his mind he’d tell him to go fuck himself.

When he swung open the door, however, there stood Silver, leaning on Flint’s desk while Flint was seated. Billy kept his expression blank. They stopped whatever chatter they’d been indulged in. He came in and strode over to the front of the desk, arms tightly crossed. He glanced at Silver, who nodded at him.

“What is it now?” asked Billy curtly.

Flint leaned forward in his chair, fingers fidgeting with the underside of his beard. Billy tried not to remember what that felt like.

“Given our increasingly volatile situation during these raids, I wanted to clear the air between us,” said Flint.

Billy frowned, looking to Silver. He didn’t know who ‘us’ was, and apparently neither did Silver. Flint looked at both of them in turn.

“I’ve bedded both of you.”

Billy blinked. Flint said nothing else. Billy’s arms dropped to his sides, suddenly rubbery and useless. It was amazing how James remained so perfectly composed and passive, eyes dully looking at him as though they belonged to a corpse’s.

Billy shot a look to Silver, the fury slowing building in him.

“What?”

For his part Silver merely snorted and rolled his eyes. He flicked a wrist out at James.

“How fucking perfect. I knew Billy wanted you. I just didn’t imagine in a hundred years you’d reciprocate. What on earth for?”

“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?” Billy heard himself snap before he could stop it. No, he shouldn’t care this much; it shouldn’t have mattered. But oh, how it did. The sting from James's earlier rejection turned into a raw wound in his chest. He moved towards Silver, feeling every single muscle in his body straining and wanting to lash out. James stood and glared at him.

“Billy, don’t.”

“Try and stop me,” Billy said evenly, not taking his eyes off the quartermaster. Silver’s hand went to his belt, where Billy could make out a leather scabbard there.

“Don’t do it,” said Silver, blue eyes staring Billy down.

Billy sneered and stopped his advance, forcing himself to turn back to James. He heard his own breathing, hard and heavy. He almost thought he saw a crack in James's armor, his brows raising just slightly at the sight of his enraged bosun. Flint looked at both of them again.

“I didn’t hear either of you complaining at the time, and we all benefited, did we not?”

Billy wanted to laugh at the challenge seeped into James’s words. He knew what James meant, that somehow his deception had bonded both he and Silver to him, for the sake of the mission, of the crew, of whatever the fuck. He thought of the way Flint had practically melted into him at the inn, of how he had moaned his name with more than just desire. He didn’t believe James. Still.

“Well no complaints here,” said Silver, holding up his palms and a tiny smile gracing his lips that Billy wanted to knock off.

“I believe,” Silver continued, “We have already established the beginning and end of our…involvement with one another.”

James nodded at him. Silver nodded back, then took his leave, glancing sideways at Billy. Billy remained, arms crossed again.

\---

James had expected this. Actually he’d expected Billy to lunge at either Silver or even himself and had risen from his chair just in case. But Billy hadn’t. Instead he just stood there like a rock after Silver’s departure, face like stone. James couldn’t read him, not this time. He rearranged the mess of papers and charts on his desk.

“You want me to hate you, is that it?” Billy asked after James had sat back down.

“No.”

Best to keep his answers clipped and to the point.

“I know you don’t,” Billy said. James's hands stilled. He didn’t look up. He felt Billy’s gaze on him. It seemed to fill up the entire room.

“You want to hate yourself, but I don’t think you do, not entirely,” Billy continued, his voice warming slightly. “I’d like to think I’m the reason keeping you from doing so. And also Silver. I wonder though, was it the same, when you fucked him as it was with me—”

James jerked up out of the chair and shot Billy a look.

“I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. So just leave.”

“No.”

Billy spoke the single word with as much smug certainty as James had ever spoken anything and James knew then that the lines between captain and subordinate were hopelessly blurred and that he’d allowed it. He gave Billy a smirk and pulled the armor over himself once more.

“Fine then. Fucking stand there.”

He lifted a pencil and protractor and searched the map in front of him. He heard Billy’s boots as he crossed the room, then he stopped. James ignored him.

“I will,” replied Billy. “I’ll stand right here and prove to you that I’m not just some convenient fuck for you that you can’t control everything when you want to.”

There was the distinctive sound of cloth being shuffled and leather and buckles moving. James dared a glance up over his brow and saw Billy taking off his baldric and letting it drop to the floor. He was unbuckling his belt. Christ. What now?

“The fuck are you doing?” James drawled out as careless as possible. But Billy’s gaze on him sent shivers throughout his body. His blue eyes were nearly black and focused intently on him while he unfastened his pants.

“I told you,” said Billy. “I’m proving it to you.”

Billy reached inside his pants and started rubbing himself, spreading his legs. James looked at him, Billy’s words ringing loud and clear now.

*…you can’t control everything when you want to.*

“Whatever,” said James, looking back down at the maps. More shuffling and the particular sound of Billy’s hand. James's own hand tightened around the pencil till it hurt.

“Look at me.”

James found that eyes literally bounced up off the desk top at the command. Billy had pulled his cock out and was stroking its length. James's breath caught and he felt the moisture leave his mouth. Billy hummed in his throat, eyes growing heavy.

“I care for you,” he said, “whether you want me to or not. You’re beautiful and you need me, whether you know that or not.”

“Billy…”

James trailed off. Every barb he could have thrown at the bosun died on his lips. Billy’s cock was hard and James forced himself to look at Billy’s face, but that wasn’t any better because Billy was looking at him through a haze, lips parted and eyes pleading. His own cock began to stir to life even as the realization that his bosun was manipulating him jolted through his brain. Billy was manipulating *him.*

“Damn you,” James growled out.

Billy said nothing but jerked himself quicker. He moaned. James's hands wrapped painfully around the edge of his desk, his body rigid.

“Come here,” said Billy.

“No.”

“Come here now and open your pants, or when I’m finished I’ll go out there and tell the entire crew that you threw me overboard that night.”

James's chest tightened. He felt short of breath. His cock was straining against his fly. Christ.

“Don’t,” said James.

The word was small and weak when it came out. Billy bit down on his lower lip, still staring at him. James wanted to scream. Instead he lunged out of his chair and crossed the room to Billy, undoing his belt and pants on the way. He stood in front of Billy, offering himself to the younger man.

Billy wasted no time in bringing James's cock out of his pants and into his hand. He teased his fingers over James's scrotum, then pulled his length, rubbing a thumb over James's head, all in such a fluid succession that James moaned out loud and clasped a hand over Billy’s shoulder to steady himself.

“See?” Billy whispered, lips brushing against his cheek.

James didn’t reply. He kept his eyes averted, instead watching as Billy took both their organs into his hand and stroked them against one another. It was difficult and sloppy at best but it worked and James all but writhed into the touch, his fingers digging into Billy’s shoulder as his forehead rubbed up against the bosun’s. Everything grew hot and too much too fast and Jesus, he just wanted more of Billy.

Yet he said nothing, trying his damndest to pretend that this was just a game between them and that Billy was winning this round. Precum seeped out of his slit as Billy worked him, worked them both. James panted hard, trying desperately to hold it back. Then, when he wasn’t paying attention, Billy kissed him, tongue up against his lips. James resisted it but the attempt was weak and Billy’s tongue found access. James sucked on it. Everything burned and ached all at once.

“Billy, please,” he rasped out at last.

And without further ado Billy dropped to his knees and sucked him off. The sensation of his bosun’s mouth doing everything it could to his cock pushed him over the edge in no time, and James couldn’t hold back the loud and low moan that escaped him as he came into Billy’s wanting mouth.

When it was over, Billy rose, and James saw that he had climaxed as well, the remains on the wood floor under their boots.

“Damn you,” was all James could think of to say, doing his best to glare at the bosun.

And how perilously he wanted to deny Billy. The voices came back to him then, the very same chorus of torments, as Miranda had once called them. He let the worst of them push itself to the forefront.

**You don’t deserve this gift. Death is your gift.**

James drew away from him.

“Please leave,” he said softly.

Their eyes met, and this time James didn’t try to hide behind anything. Billy regarded him for a long minute, expression soft but uncertain. Then he relented, fixing his pants and picking up his baldric. He left the room, shutting the door behind him.

James sat back down at his desk and remained there motionless for a long, long time, until his joints hurt and he had to move. He pulled out his pistol and laid it in front of him. His hand lingered on top of it, index finger snaking its way to the trigger and his thumb resting over the hammer. He stared at it for another long stretch of time, which had become meaningless. He thought of everything and nothing particular, but at the end of it all he came back to Billy. Maybe, just maybe, if he could hold out just a little longer there might be a reason.

He took his thumb off the hammer and replaced the pistol. He washed up and made ready to do a last sweep of the decks before nightfall.

Randomly, he thought of when the light in their room at the inn had been just right, Billy’s blue eyes looked exactly like Thomas's.

Maybe, if he could just hold out a little longer.

***


End file.
